


Use and Overuse

by Hopetohell



Category: Mission: Impossible (Movies)
Genre: An Improbable Amount Of Orgasms, Bodily Fluids, Dom/sub Undertones, Gags, Light Bondage, Multiple Orgasms, Overstimulation, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Reader-Insert, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-29
Updated: 2020-10-29
Packaged: 2021-03-08 18:34:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 999
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27261295
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hopetohell/pseuds/Hopetohell
Summary: You know me, doll, how long I can go, how often. But if you’re sure—Walker gives you exactly what you asked for.
Relationships: August Walker/Reader
Comments: 2
Kudos: 22





	Use and Overuse

This is you, bound, held open for him. This is you with your feet flat on the floor and your arms stretched down and over the back of the couch. This is you, naked, immobilized and filthy. This is you, hours after he first put you here, after he inspected the ropes and slipped the gag between your lips and murmured _pretty little toy._

This is you with his seed sticky on your thighs and puddled on the floor. This is the throbbing ache of your heartbeat in your cunt, bruised and swollen. These are your legs, bound open and you cannot close them, cannot move, cannot _think._ This is Walker with three fingers thick and hot inside you. This is exactly what you wanted. 

_Til I cry, and then again and again and again til the ropes are all that’s holding me up. Yeah. Used, I guess, just a_

_Toy, aren’t you? Just someplace I can stick my cock, look at you. Just filthy with come and I’m not nearly finished filling you up._

He withdraws his fingers and watches you trying to clench around empty air; you’re _so fucking sloppy,_ and he slips a slicked finger into your asshole as you whine behind the gag, as you buck your hips erratically and try to scrape up enough brainpower to decide if you should try to rock back into the sensation or forward and away. 

As if it mattered. _Doesn’t matter what you want, toy. Not now._ And there he is again, sliding in hot and hard and it shouldn’t be possible, not again, but there he is and it _aches_ as he thrusts thick and hard through all that mess, through all the leavings of all the other times he’s fucked you since binding you here. It radiates warm pain all through you as tears fall to shine up the leather couch, mixing with the drool that slips from behind your gag. That thick finger is still there, an anchor point that holds you steady as sensation spirals all through you, as he thrusts carelessly into the sloppy mess of you because you getting off isn’t the point; the point is how he continues to 

_Disregard me, use me, look. I just. Whenever you want, yeah? As much as you can, til I’m more come than anything else. Til I can’t go any more, and then again._

And, well, he always did give you exactly what you asked for. He might’ve been a little doubtful about this one— _you know me, doll, how long I can go, how often. But if you’re sure—_ but if you’re sure. And you were so fucking sure about it, had been craving that overstimulation, that feeling of being filled up entirely at his whim. At first it wasn’t so bad. He’d knelt down behind and pried you open, made you come on his tongue and his clever fingers, made you cry out _please_ as he pierced into you while you still shivered through the aftershocks. And that was good, that feeling of being brought beyond. 

_One for you. And now everything for me._

And now this is you, watching the shadows move across the room. None of it really registers; your world is narrowing to the point of contact between his hips and yours. He’s slowing, finally; he’s a little out of rhythm and you can imagine the length of him angry and red from overuse. You’d like to ask him _does it hurt you, are you hanging on by pure stubbornness_ but all you can do is moan weakly around the gag, muscle control slipping away until you are, at last, hanging in the ropes. 

He feels it, that give in your posture, and it makes him spill inside you again with a growl and a rush of heat. When he withdraws there’s just the briefest sensation of fluids sliding down your leg; how he even has anything left is a mystery. He drapes himself over you for a moment, breathing hard, until his words are steady. 

_One more. Don’t go anywhere._

There’s the sound of running water in the distance, rustling, little clinking sounds and soft distracted humming. You’re drifting, somewhere between conscious and not, and you don’t even notice when he comes back. 

But you definitely notice when he slips inside again, when he slides through swollen, tender flesh, when he pulls you up on tiptoe to force the angle. He drives  
into you messily, brushing against a spot inside that normally has you seeing stars but today has you screaming, muffled by the gag but still so fucking vocal for him even if the curses are stuck in your throat. 

He’s chuckling at that, the absolute bastard, even if it’s a little breathy. Even if it’s followed by an eternity of increasingly sloppy thrusts, rhythmless and powered now entirely by his stubbornness. And after so very long, when you’re at last left with nothing but to flop there bonelessly under him and _take_ it, he comes dry inside you, wrung empty at last. And for a while he’s heavy on your back, while his breathing slows to normal and he grips the back of the couch to make his hands stop their exhausted shaking. 

_Even the gods have their limits._

He’s drawn a bath; you can feel the steam hanging in the air when he releases you from your bonds and you stumble together down the hall. But the bedroom is right there and the bed is so soft and warm, and well. The bath can wait. And so together you tumble sticky and sore into bed; you’ll regret it when you wake with the sheets stuck to your skin, but that’s a problem for later. You’re so very far beyond tired, beyond coherence, and August isn't much better, but he is warm and solid in the bed beside you, already halfway into sleep. 

And faintly, from the depths of the blankets: _exactly what you asked for._


End file.
